In a World of Their Own
by spintwin
Summary: A series of snapshots of the romance between Oliver Wood and Percy Weasley. Begins in PoA. (Slash)
1. Oliver

Title: In a World of Their Own I: Oliver  
  
Author: Fleur (albino_hunter@hotmail.com)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Pairing: Oliver/Percy  
  
Archive: Please ask first.  
  
Summary: Takes place during Book 3. After the celebrations for Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup victory, Oliver Wood wonders who Percy Weasley is. (Minor slash)  
  
Author's Note: This is the first part of a four-part series, but can be read as a stand-alone. It is also my first Harry Potter fic. Beta read by the wonderful Zarya. Please review; honest critiques are happily accepted.  
  
IN A WORLD OF THEIR OWN  
  
Amid the racket in the Gryffindor common room, Oliver Wood set his Butterbeer down. Almost instantly, another mug was thrust into his hand by an enthusiastic Weasley twin. Oliver automatically grinned, clipped the twin around the back of the head and took a swig of the warm drink.  
  
They had won. They had finally won the Quidditch Cup.  
  
This was Oliver's last year at Hogwarts and he had wanted more than anything to win the Quidditch competition. More than anything at all. He doubted anybody - not even his team-mates - knew just how much he had longed to see his name on that cup. Now he would. They had done it.  
  
The celebrations in the Gryffindor common room had started as soon as Fred and George had rustled up enough food - which had been a good three hours ago. The time since had positively flown, and Oliver had long lost count of the number of Butterbeers he had downed.  
  
This was a feeling unlike any other. They had triumphed. His team, his team that he'd dragged out into the cold dawn so often. His team that he'd put so much of his life into. They had won.  
  
George or Fred's voice rang out across the common room. "Oi, you lot, listen up for a moment."  
  
Oliver looked. The twins were standing on a small table in the centre of the room, commanding attention. The one on the left (after four years as their Quidditch captain, Wood still couldn't tell them apart) spoke first. "As you all know, we had a ruddy brilliant game today--"  
  
He was cut off by loud cheering, and his twin took up the story. "But!" He held up a hand, mock sadness covering his face. "It was... ah, could you say tinged with sadness, Fred?"  
  
"I believe you could," Fred replied, face breaking into a grin. "I think most of you realise that today was the last match for our captain."  
  
"Oh," Oliver murmured, reddening and staring into his drink. He didn't want this night, this perfect night, to be turned sour by misery. He didn't want to be reminded that it had quite possibly been his last game ever. After all, if he didn't get into the League this summer, that was it. Quidditch and Oliver Wood would no longer be synonymous.  
  
"Our esteemed captain--"  
  
"--Lover of dawn--"  
  
"--A cracking keeper--"  
  
"-- _Whip_ cracking captain..."  
  
In the laughter that followed that particular comment, a twin's voice rang out, "So, Oliver, we just want you to know that yeah, we might actually miss you." He looked up to see that it was George talking, and smiled his thanks.  
  
Fred snickered. "Yeah, we'll miss the crack of dawn practices..."  
  
"...In the rain..."  
  
"... the snow..."  
  
"... even when we had no game for months ..."  
  
"... probably even if the sport had been outlawed!"  
  
The common room laughed as a whole. Oliver had to laugh as well. They'd had some pretty uncomfortable episodes. But they had been the best times of his life.  
  
And then the twins were upon him, in what felt like some sort of tackle. He supposed it was a Weasley twin imitation of an affectionate hug. The left hand twin planted a kiss on his cheek, loud and wet. Oliver laughed and wiped it away.  
  
"So let's drink," whichever twin was on his right, called out. "To Oliver Wood, the best bloody Quidditch captain Hogwarts has ever seen."  
  
Feeling his spirits lift immeasurably as the room drank as one, Wood laughed. "Thanks, you two." The room returned to the raucous state it had been in before the speech and he looked seriously at them both. "I'm going to miss you, you know that?"  
  
"Well you know you'll never find beaters as good as us," one of them quipped.  
  
Wood laughed, and sipped the Butterbeer. "That's for sure." He could feel himself getting a little emotional, as a lump in his throat threatened to break. He covered it with another laugh. "Take care, eh?"  
  
"Aw, you're getting all serious on us!" Two hands slipped around his waist and the twins pulled him into the middle of the common room.  
  
"You're not leaving us yet, anyway. You're stuck with us until the end of the term, you know."  
  
With that comment the two wandered off.  
  
Oliver looked around the room. Everyone appeared to be having a wicked time. Everyone, that is, except Harry Potter's friend Hermione Granger, who was in the corner, poring over her books. He grinned. This celebration... it was all for his team. All this happiness, because of them. He loved the thought.  
  
Looking down, Oliver found that his Butterbeer was finished. He wandered inattentively over to get another, greeting people cheerfully and reaching over to ruffle Harry's hair on the way.  
  
Just as he was raising the new glass to his lips, a quiet, clipped, voice came from his right. "Oliver. I just wanted to--"  
  
He turned around, and frowned, cutting the speaker off. "Percy?"  
  
Percy Weasley was the only other male Gryffindor in Wood's year, but they literally hadn't spoken in years. In their third year, Oliver was pretty sure it was, they had just stopped speaking to each other. For no reason other than that they had utterly nothing in common. Back then, Oliver had been focussed on constantly practicing Quidditch and dreaming of making the house team. Percy, meanwhile, had sat in their dorm and studied, poring for hours over books. Oliver had never understood that, never understood Percy; not one bit.  
  
"I just wanted to say well done," Percy finished, as if Wood hadn't spoken a word. "On the game today." He didn't meet Wood's eyes, but offered a slight smile and turned away, walking up the stairs to the dormitory.  
  
Oliver watched him go, puzzled. That had been absolutely baffling.  
  
Someone came up behind Oliver and clapped him on the back, shouting something in his ear. He allowed himself to be led back to the party, quite dazed.  
  
* * * * *  
  
By the time - much later - that the party wound down, Oliver still hadn't decided what he was going to say to Percy when he went upstairs. He hadn't even decided whether or not he was going to say anything.  
  
The seventh year dorm was dead silent. It was also dark except for Percy's wand light, which illuminated his face and the book he was reading. Oliver paused in the doorway, just staring.  
  
Without him noticing, Percy had grown up. Instead of the goofy, lanky third year he had been, he was a tall, elegant man. Good looking, for sure. His flaming hair had darkened into something that was far softer than that of his brothers, and his glasses finally fit his face just right. Oliver really hadn't looked at Percy in four years. He had only looked through him.  
  
As he was undressing for bed, another thought occurred to Oliver: he was leaving Hogwarts soon, he had spent seven years sharing a bedroom with this man, and he knew nothing about Percy Weasley. Nothing. Oh sure, he knew the story as far as it applied to any of the Weasleys - poor, truckloads of children, second hand everythings. He knew Percy as far as he was Head Boy, got top marks in most of his subjects, was teased constantly by Fred and George, and dated that Penelope from Ravenclaw.  
  
But what was he like?  
  
Oliver had absolutely no idea who Percy Weasley really was. And suddenly he realised how much he truly regretted that.  
  
Without saying anything, as Oliver got into bed Percy muttered, "Nox," and the light went out. Oliver listened to Percy rustling around and putting his book away, before silence settled over the room.  
  
Mind racing, Oliver lay still and silent for about ten minutes, before he suddenly blurted, "Percy?"  
  
Silence followed the comment, before Percy replied, sounding very surprised, "Yes, Oliver?"  
  
Percy wasn't the only one surprised. Oliver had surprised himself by speaking aloud. He found himself at a loss for words. "Uh, um," he stammered, "Well..."  
  
He hated the way speaking got him into such trouble sometimes. Occasionally, his mouth just shot off without any sort of permission from the rest of his body. What was he meant to say now? He couldn't very well just ask, 'Well, who are you, Percy?' could he?  
  
"I was just wondering, uh... how are you?"  
  
Lame, Wood, he congratulated himself. Very lame.  
  
"I really don't think this sort of time is appropriate for idle chit-chat," Percy said quietly.  
  
There were more words in that sentence than he'd spoken to him in four years, Oliver thought to himself a little sadly. Suddenly, he wanted to break through to Percy. He wanted to talk to him and learn, learn what made Percy Weasley who he was.  
  
Something to talk about. Oliver's mind grasped for a topic, reaching. What did he know for certain that Percy was interested in? Being Head Boy? The upcoming examinations? That could be a start.  
  
"So... all ready for the exams?" asked Oliver, before realising how accusatory that sounded. "I mean, not that I think you mightn't be, I'm just..." his voice faded off into awkward silence.  
  
"What is this all about, Wood?" Oliver looked over to see Percy leaning on one elbow, peering over at him. "Is this just because I talked to you downstairs?"  
  
Oliver shifted uncomfortably in his bed. He hadn't realised it was that transparent. "Er... yeah, basically."  
  
"I'm terribly sorry to make you break four years of silence then," Percy said icily.  
  
The comment fell heavily, and Wood gathered his wits before starting to reply. "No, Percy, I'm sorry - I just, I don't know." He sighed, fingering the edge of his duvet. "I'd like to get to know you."  
  
Then Percy laughed; but it was mirthless. "That's ridiculous. After seven years, you'd like to get to know me?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've left it a little bit late, don't you think?"  
  
Oliver couldn't believe it. Here he was making an effort, and it was totally and utterly unappreciated. "I'm sorry, I-"  
  
"No." Percy sounded his stern Head Boy self with that word, and Oliver sat up, staring across the room at him. "Of course you shouldn't have anything to do with me. We're too different, right Wood?"  
  
"I..." For the life of him, he couldn't think of a thing to say. "I don't know what to say, I..."  
  
"You've had a few too many Butterbeers." Percy turned away from him, tilting his head so Oliver could hear his next words. "So sleep, and in the morning you'll pretend this never happened."  
  
If he hadn't known better, Oliver would have sworn that Percy sounded almost... hurt?  
  
"No," he said decisively, getting out of his bed and marching over to Weasley's. He sat on the end of it. "Look, I'm making a bloody effort here, the least you could do-"  
  
"Why? You haven't made any sort of effort in the last four years." Percy sat up in bed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "So why now?"  
  
Again Oliver found himself at a loss for words. He looked at his hands, crossed in his lap. "You didn't make an effort either, you know."  
  
Even as he said the words, he knew that it was at best a very weak excuse, and at worst not remotely true. There had been many times over the years that Percy was about to speak to him, and Oliver had purposely rushed out of the dorm.  
  
There was silence for a small while, before Percy spoke. Only this time, his voice was quieter, and far less severe. "Why couldn't you talk to me, Oliver?"  
  
Oliver figured honesty was probably the best policy in this case. "I wouldn't have known what to say." Then he sighed and figured he may as well tell the whole story. "I mean, you're... you're top of the classes, and Head Boy, and... well, I'm just a Quidditch player. What could I possibly say that would interest you?"  
  
When Oliver dared to look up after that, he could make out Percy's offended look even through the darkness. "That's how you see me? As some, some haughty git? Too pretentious to talk to a lowly Quidditch player?"  
  
"That's not what I meant," Oliver lied. Only, it was. That was how everybody in their year saw Percy. He had ostracised himself and nobody had ever tried to bring him back.  
  
There was silence between the two of them for longer then, long enough that Oliver went to return to his bed. Percy quickly laid a hand on his leg, restraining him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "The truth truly does hurt, I suppose." His voice was quiet, defeated. Oliver leaned forward and strained to hear every word. "The thing is... nobody really knows me." A quiet, derisive snort. "Oh sure, there's Penelope, but for everything that goes on, she really has no idea." Oliver noticed that Percy was staring somewhere past him. "Nobody in my family even knows me. I'm in the middle - Bill and Charlie are so much older, the twins have each other and then Ron and Ginny are too young. Mum and Dad have never understood me." Then his eyes focused on Oliver. "And then here, well, you just said it yourself. I suppose you all just see me as that pompous Head Boy, that stickler for rules."  
  
There was another bout of silence.  
  
Then Percy went on, and his voice was even quieter now. "The thing is, nobody bothers to find out who the person behind the Head Boy really is." He chuckled a little and went on in a condescending tone, "I wouldn't expect you to understand."  
  
But something had struck a chord deep inside Oliver. "I wouldn't understand, Percy?" His tone rose markedly. "Think again. I understand exactly what it's like." He paused a little, and noticed that Percy was looking at him curiously. "Whenever anyone looks at me, nobody ever - and I mean EVER, sees just plain old Oliver Wood. Oh no. It's always Oliver Wood, Quidditch player. Oliver Wood, Gryffindor keeper. Oliver Wood, artificial celebrity. Nobody knows me either, you know. To this whole bloody school I'm just a decent Quidditch captain. I mean, it's perfectly understandable because to a certain extent Quidditch is me, it's all I ever think about. But I just... I doubt anyone ever thinks of me if it's not in relation to the sport." He paused. Something had just broken inside him - he had no idea where these feelings were coming from. He'd never felt like this before. Not consciously, anyway. "So don't tell me that I don't understand what it's like, Percy. I know exactly what it's all about."  
  
Percy was silent for a minute. "I never thought about it like that, you know." He offered Oliver a tentative smile. "I suppose you do know what it's like."  
  
Oliver smiled back, relieved. He stuck out his hand. "Truce, then?"  
  
Taking his hand, Percy nodded very seriously. "Friends."  
  
There was another pause between them, but now it wasn't awkward. "So what are you into?" Oliver finally asked, curious. He shifted around so his legs were crossed and his chin propped in his hands.  
  
Seeming to consider the question quite seriously, Percy frowned. "I enjoy reading, of course."  
  
"So do I," Oliver said with certainty.  
  
Grinning, Percy said lightly, "Reading what, 'Quidditch through the Ages'?" He laughed, and Oliver smiled at how light Percy suddenly appeared. "Sorry," he apologised. "That wasn't very fair. Especially in light of what you've just been talking about. Anyway, I very much appreciate a good game of Quidditch."  
  
"Really?" Oliver was surprised. Of course he'd known that Percy went to every match they played, but that was expected of the Head Boy or the House Prefect. Besides, most everybody went to the Quidditch games.  
  
Percy nodded excitedly. "I actually play a bit at home, with Fred and George, and Ron of course." Oliver could have sworn that he was blushing, if only he could see in the darkness. "I'm bloody useless, but I do enjoy it." He sighed a little, took a few breaths. "Tell me something about you."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"I don't know." Percy shifted his weight and brushed against Wood's hand. "Hey, you're freezing. Climb in bed with me while we're talking."  
  
Oliver didn't hide his surprise, but jumped in anyway. The inside of the bed was certainly a long shot warmer than the top of it. He couldn't believe how well this had ended up going.  
  
"That's better," Percy said as he took Oliver's hands between his own and rubbed them to warm them up. "Why don't you tell me about your family?"  
  
"Oh." Oliver thought for a moment. What could he possibly say about them that would be interesting? "I suppose you're asking if I'm a pure blood? I am; my Mum and Dad both went to school here. Neither played Quidditch, though they both enjoyed it enough. I'm an only child. I think that's why there's so much pressure on me to perform. Because they don't have anybody else to focus on."  
  
Percy let go of Oliver's hands and moved his own out to prop his chin up again. "I'm really sorry, Oliver. That must be exceedingly hard for you." He paused. "I can't imagine what it would be like as an only child."  
  
Oliver smiled, thinking of what a commotion it must be at Percy's house when all the children were home. "I don't know what it's like to not be. But I suppose it's a lot less lonely."  
  
There was a pause between them again. Percy moved his arms out of the blankets and suddenly embraced Oliver. It came as a complete shock to Wood and he lay stiffly pressed against Percy's chest for a few awkward moments before he snuck his arms around Percy's waist to hold him just as tightly.  
  
"We're really very similar," Percy said offhand as they drew out of their embrace. "Lonely. Misunderstood."  
  
"That, and the fact we both focus on one thing so much that we block everything else out of our lives." Wood said this very matter-of-fact, and Percy nodded his agreement.  
  
Another pause, before Percy turned to look at Oliver. Their faces were barely five centimetres apart, and Oliver felt Percy's eyes bearing into his own, searching for something. Percy broke the moment with a whisper, "I'm sorry I didn't try to get to know you sooner."  
  
"I'm sorry too," Oliver whispered. Because he was; the way he and Percy had connected so quickly tonight made him believe that they could have been so close all the way through school. And perhaps that would have abated some of the loneliness Wood felt so often. Maybe if he and Percy had become friends sooner he would have had a distraction when it wasn't Quidditch season. He opened his mouth to go on, but was stopped by Percy's long index finger.  
  
"What-" Oliver started to whisper, but Percy was already moving toward him.  
  
It suddenly dawned on Oliver: Percy Weasley was about to kiss him.  
  
A million thoughts flashed through his head at once: He's got a girlfriend, This is totally wrong, Fred and George will kill me, I'm not gay am I? But then the thoughts abruptly stopped as he gave in, and leaned forward to meet Percy's lips with his own.  
  
"Weasley?" Professor McGonagall's voice called sharply through the darkness. "Weasley, are you awake?"  
  
Percy's eyes snapped open, and he stared at Oliver in silent panic. They both knew what this would look like if she walked in. Percy snuck a hand out to clasp over Oliver's mouth and called out, "Yes, Professor?"  
  
"There are several fifth year Gryffindor students still down in the common room. I expect you to deal with these sorts of happenings, Percy. I have removed appropriate amounts of points and given the offending parties detentions, but it would be appreciated if you could give them a strict talking to."  
  
Silence followed that speech, and Percy murmured his understanding. McGonagall's footsteps faded out of the room. Percy got out of bed, Oliver's eyes following him, and pulled on his robe. He pulled back the curtain and went to leave.  
  
"Percy," Oliver called hoarsely. He didn't know what to say. He hoped the interruption hadn't destroyed Percy's nerve.  
  
Percy didn't reply. He just looked at Oliver for a minute. Even in the darkness Oliver could make out the sad look on Percy's face. And then he dropped the curtain, and left.  
  
Oliver sank back on the bed. He realised that he had just experienced a real defining moment. He wasn't about to get it back. Nothing had happened, of course - McGonagall had arrived just an instant too soon. So close. He was certain that their lips would have met, but of course he wouldn't know. After all, Percy's departure hadn't given him any clue that they would ever try to retake that step.  
  
By now, he wasn't entirely sure that it had almost happened - the memory was already taking on the faded quality of a dream.  
  
But, plain old Oliver Wood was completely sure that he wanted it to happen again. 


	2. Decisions

In a World of Their Own II: Decisions  
  
Author: Fleur  
  
Rating: PG-13 (Slash, Percy / Oliver)  
  
Series: In a World of Their Own, part two of four  
  
Summary: Percy and Oliver are graduating. Oliver's wondering where their relationship is going - if they even have a relationship, that is.  
  
Archive: I don't mind but please drop me a review to let me know where it's going.  
  
  
  
The blue flames of the bonfire spiralled high into the dark night surrounding Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Watching the flames, Oliver Wood shivered, as if cold. But he wasn't; his shudder was more at the utter finality of the situation than the current temperature. It was, of course, the last night before the rest of his life began.  
  
Earlier that day, Oliver's class had graduated. They had their NEWTs (Oliver had just scraped through) and they were now certified witches and wizards. After seven long years, they had finally finished their schooling.  
  
Of course, Percy Weasley had spoken at the graduating ceremony, and in Oliver's opinion he had done so marvellously. But then again, Percy always did do things perfectly, didn't he.  
  
While he was speaking, Oliver had been bewitched. He had been unable to tear his eyes away from the tall redhead. Percy's voice, magically amplified, had rung clear, washing over them all. But Oliver had felt that Percy was speaking only to him.  
  
Never once during his speech did Percy lift his eyes from Oliver. And when Percy had spoken of "bonds beyond anything created by a wand," he had smiled at him. That subtle, slightly self-conscious, perfectly Percy smile. Oliver had found himself grinning back like an idiot, feeling uncannily like he and Percy were, for one beautiful moment, enclosed in some glass casing separate from their classmates.  
  
Their former classmates, that was. The seventh years were now enjoying their last act as a class: a magical bonfire on the Quidditch pitch.  
  
Oliver stood separate from the others, leaning against the central Quidditch post he'd spent so many years defending. The faces of the rest of his class were illuminated by the flames, their smiles and tears amplified equally by the shadows being cast.  
  
All day long, everybody had been talking and asking about the future. The future, they said in breathy tones, aglow and excited. The students had answered in generally orthodox ways. A few in the class were going on to further their wizardry studies in European colleges. A few, Marcus Flint included, were simply going to work with their parents - although Oliver wasn't sure what Marcus's parents did apart from raise trolls like him. A couple of the more brilliant students were going into Auror training.  
  
And then there was Oliver.  
  
"I suppose you'll just play Quidditch," Penelope Clearwater had said loftily to Oliver from her place at Percy's side, tone by itself implying how foolish she considered that career path.  
  
Oliver had squirmed a little and answered, "Well... yes." After all, what else was there for him to do? He couldn't stand the thought of being confined behind a desk all day, and he knew for sure that he wouldn't handle further studies. His NEWTs had been bad enough. Quidditch was the natural option.  
  
Percy, of course, had answered promptly to anyone and everyone that he was going into the Ministry as soon as he could. Every time he had said it within Wood's hearing, Oliver had found himself a little more alienated. Percy had such a future. Miss Clearwater certainly approved of his career choice, judging by her seemingly permanent attachment to Percy's arm that day.  
  
But then again, Oliver reminded himself, girlfriends did have a tendency, and a right, to act like that.  
  
Oliver really couldn't hide his resentment of the girl. He had no idea where he stood with Percy, and Clearwater was one of the reasons for his confusion.  
  
By now, Oliver knew for certain that Percy had feelings for him that extended beyond friendship. They had talked about it long into many nights, and stolen several hurried kisses behind drawn curtains. The little that had taken place between them, had done so quickly. So alarmingly quickly, in fact, that Oliver had hardly had time to stand back and assess about how he felt about it.  
  
He had feelings for Percy. He knew that. That wasn't the issue. He may have never recognised the feelings before the night they had started to talk again (and almost kissed, he reminded himself), but he was now almost comfortable in the knowledge that they existed.  
  
Since that night, Oliver had found himself looking at the man anew. He had paid as much attention to observing Percy as he ever had to studying opposition Chasers, and that was certainly saying something. Oliver knew every damn nuance and habit of Percy's. It came as a surprise to Oliver that he was capable of obsessing over something that wasn't carrying a Quaffle.  
  
So, certainly, he had feelings for Percy. Feelings far beyond friendship.  
  
No, that wasn't the issue.  
  
The issue was Percy himself.  
  
Percy was special, Oliver knew that. He seemed at times to reciprocate Oliver's feelings tenfold. But at other times - especially around Clearwater, naturally - he was totally unreadable. It was at those times that Oliver felt - no, he knew that he meant nothing to Percy.  
  
Oliver knew that he and Percy weren't together, not really, because Clearwater was still the one whose hand Percy held in the hallways, her lips still the ones Percy's met awkwardly outside the Great Hall.  
  
Shifting his weight against the goalpost, Oliver sighed a little. He was jealous of Clearwater; he was completely unable to deny it. But then again, the whole mess was his own fault for leaving everything so late.  
  
And so, he thought as he looked skyward, it would end between he and Percy Weasley. It would end after barely beginning. He would go play Quidditch professionally, Percy would go into the Ministry of Magic and marry Clearwater once she graduated, and everybody would live happily ever after.  
  
Well, everybody would live happily except for Oliver, after all.  
  
"Oliver!" A sudden female cry broke into his cynicism, accompanied by a light giggle. Oliver looked up to see Patricia Reid, a Hufflepuff, walking across the field to him. "Oliver," she whined, cocking her head at him, "come back to the party. You're missing all the fun."  
  
He smiled tolerantly. "I just need some time to think, okay? I won't be long."  
  
Patricia giggled again, blushing. "I'll hold you to that, you know. Don't you dare leave without saying goodbye to me." And with a final high-pitched giggle, she fluttered gaily back to the fireside.  
  
Oliver knew the behaviour by now. After all, he'd seen it in his own trio of Chasers when they'd discussed the Hufflepuff Seeker Cedric Diggory earlier that year. Oliver was somewhat uncomfortably aware of what the girls at Hogwarts thought about him. He'd overheard a group of sixth year Ravenclaws in the hallway once: "That Oliver Wood, ooh, I'd polish his broomstick any day." He had brushed past them before they'd been able to see how red he'd gone.  
  
It wasn't that he wasn't flattered. He supposed he was - but not flattered as much as embarrassed. And even then, there was still that damn nagging wish he had to be known as himself rather than stuck on a shelf and admired by strangers.  
  
As if cued by the thought, Percy's voice reached him. "Oliver."  
  
Oliver spun around. Percy was standing a few metres away. His skin was flushed the shade of his hair by the heat from the fire, and he was staring intently at Oliver.  
  
Neither said anything for a few moments, before Percy stepped closer. "I think you ought to come closer to the fire. It's really very cold over here."  
  
"I'm okay," Oliver answered absently. He knew Percy was probably just trying to find a way to break into proper conversation.  
  
There was another bout of silence. Apparently that hadn't been the opening Percy was looking for.  
  
Finally, without looking up at Oliver, Percy broke the pause. "So," he began, fiddling with a fingernail on his left hand, "This is it. The end of seven years."  
  
Oliver nodded. There really wasn't a lot he could say to that, aside from a brief cliché about it being the start of so much else. He resisted the mild temptation.  
  
All Oliver wanted to ask was what the future of their relationship was - if they even had a future, or indeed if they even had a relationship. But he simply didn't know how to begin. He couldn't very well just say something like, 'Are we going anywhere, Percy?' because it would sound patently ridiculous.  
  
But then, without warning or permission, he was speaking. "Are we going anywhere, Percy?"  
  
Oh, nice work, Wood, his mind mocked. Very good.  
  
Percy looked, unsurprisingly, taken aback by the question. "What do you mean?"  
  
Trying to think and at the same time trying not to speak was more challenging than Oliver had anticipated. He managed to gather his thoughts after a spell. Relatively gather them, anyway. "I mean... us, Perce. I don't know where we're going... I mean, together. If we are going anywhere. Uh, if we're going to keep whatever we have once we leave here... not that we really have much right now, or even anything, actually. Because of course, you have Penelope, and I have... I have..." Good one, his mind mocked him, that sentence is going nowhere fast, "Uh, I have... Quidditch, and I'm not trying to say that I don't want to have something. Or that I wouldn't want it to continue if we did have something, because I would, of course I would. But, uh..."  
  
"Blimey, Oliver, speaking to you is more complicated than our Potions exam." Percy gave him a wry smile.  
  
Oliver had to grin back. Gradually, though, his smile faded. "Percy, I regret more than anything leaving all of this so late, but..." He drifted off, running a hand up and down the goalpost absently. The goalpost was solid. Real. Life was so simple when it was just Quidditch. "I hope it's not too late. I know how ridiculous that is, since you're going to be in the Ministry and I'll be a million worlds away playing Quidditch. Besides that, the role of your partner is already very well filled by Penelope." He turned back to the goalpost. Tangible. Reality. Feelings couldn't be trusted nearly as well as something he could actually touch.  
  
"Actually," Percy said quietly, "I've just told Penny we won't be able to continue our relationship when I leave school." Oliver looked up hopefully, but Percy went on. "I told her the truth. I really won't have time to spend with her, while she's still in school and particularly when you consider the amount I'm going to be working..."  
  
Oliver felt his hope crumble a little. "Oh," he said, very quietly.  
  
"You twat," Percy said, laughter creeping into his voice, "I won't have time for her because I'd much rather be spending it with you."  
  
"Oh," Oliver repeated, this time louder and with a smirk creeping onto his face.  
  
There was a very pregnant pause, during which Percy just smiled at Oliver. "Oliver, I have got a lot of plans, both for this summer and beyond. I've as good as been accepted into the Ministry of Magic. I know where I'm going - for the most part, that is."  
  
Staring at Percy without really seeing him, Oliver nodded.  
  
Percy looked off into the darkness beyond the goalposts, expression unreadable. After a while, he continued. "I'm not a fan of lost opportunities. If we leave here as we are, it will possibly be one of the foremost lost opportunities in my life thus far. I am, quite frankly, not prepared to risk having such a regret."  
  
Shifting his weight, Oliver studied Percy for a few moments. Percy had that unnervingly serious look about him. If it had been anybody else, Oliver would have expected them to break the spell and grin. But Percy kept his eyes trained on Oliver, not terminating the locked gaze between them.  
  
Finally, Oliver spoke. "So what do we do?"  
  
Percy stepped closer, close enough that Oliver could even see the glint of the firelight on the lenses of his glasses. "We have tonight. Whatever happens tonight, happens. When we leave tomorrow we consider our actions and weigh the consequences." Percy finally smiled gently. "When each of us has thought it through and reached our conclusion about the best path to take, we owl the other." Percy smiled again here, softer and more intimately. "I don't want us to rush into anything."  
  
Oliver laughed aloud then, surreptitiously moving closer to Percy. "How can we rush into something that's been seven years in the making?"  
  
"Seven years?" Percy repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You mean to tell me that you..."  
  
Laughing again, Oliver held up a hand. "Don't flatter yourself." He smirked at Percy, stepping closer again. They were now barely inches apart, and aside from the flames, Oliver could see his own reflection in Percy's glasses. Watching the reflection was quite creepy - Oliver felt as if he was suddenly seeing things through Percy's own eyes. "So," he said quietly, watching his image speak the same words in unison, "what happens now?"  
  
Percy blinked, diverting Oliver's attention from his glasses to his eyes. Percy's eyes were soft and beautiful, contrasting with his hard exterior. The exterior that Oliver had believed was Percy for almost seven years. Percy's eyes didn't hide a thing.  
  
Right now, Percy's eyes... Oliver couldn't read them. His eyes might not hide anything, but they certainly didn't translate it all.  
  
"I'm not sure where we go from here," Percy said as quietly as Oliver had spoken, and his eyes searched Oliver's for an answer. A hint. Some clue as to what was going to happen beyond that night.  
  
Unable to think of anything to say, Oliver decided to make the move. Without a cautionary glance over to his classmates, he slipped his left hand across the small space dividing the two of them, resting it on Percy's sharp hipbone. Slowly, watching Percy's eyes for any warning to stop, Oliver brought his right hand up to touch Percy's cheek lightly.  
  
Percy's eyes closed slightly as Oliver stroked a hand down his pale cheek. Oliver turned his hand so the back of it was brushing Percy's chin with the pressure of a feather.  
  
And then it was Percy, Percy leaning forward to tentatively brush Oliver's lips with his own. A mere brush was all that happened before they both opened their eyes at the same time.  
  
Silent questions passed between them, and this time Oliver could read Percy's eyes with perfect clarity: yes.  
  
Oliver's hand slid around to nestle in the small of Percy's back and they moved together enough for their chests to touch, both leaning into the kiss that followed. Percy's hands moved awkwardly around Oliver until they were positioned on his shoulder blades, pulling Oliver into himself.  
  
Shifting his weight, Oliver rocked onto the balls of his feet slightly to lessen the angle between their mouths. This kiss was more intense than any they had stolen in their dorm; their lips were pressed together tightly and as they moved, the friction between their skin stirred something deep in Oliver. He smiled into the kiss, his tongue moving out to tickle Percy's lips a little. Percy's mouth opened invitingly and Oliver could... he could feel Percy moaning ever so slightly into him, the gentle vibration against Oliver's tongue almost maddening in its softness.  
  
They didn't break contact as one of Percy's hands moved up to stroke the hair at the nape of Oliver's neck. Percy's finger stroking across the fine down there caused a tingling sensation and Oliver pressed himself into Percy even harder, fingers digging into his back. His other hand shifted onto Percy's shoulder and he gripped there too, pulling Percy into the kiss until they were pressed against each other so tightly the rest of the world ceased to exist.  
  
When they finally broke apart, Percy was panting a little to catch his breath. His lips were rubbed red and Oliver suspected his own looked the same. Oliver dropped his hands away, stepped back a little, and chanced a roguish grin at Percy.  
  
He was rewarded with a shy smile back as Percy drew the back of his hand across his mouth. His tongue smoothed across his slightly swollen lips, and he murmured, "Oliver. That was..."  
  
"Just what we've been waiting for," Oliver finished for him. He reached out and caressed Percy's arm gently.  
  
Percy nodded his agreement.  
  
Stepping forward again so his left arm locked around Percy's waist, Oliver looked into Percy's eyes again, past his own reflection, past Percy's mask, into Percy himself. The Percy that lay perfectly open for Oliver, perfectly honest. Oliver could read the eyes as clearly as ever now. They said things that Percy would have never dared to speak aloud.  
  
And right now, they were silently asking Oliver to kiss him again.  
  
Oliver moved more subtly, softly this time, gently pressing his lips to Percy's, pulling back so they were only just in contact. He opened his mouth slowly and let Percy's tongue be the first to dance invitingly. He moved forward into Percy's embrace, still keeping their kiss light while Percy moved forward a little to counter Oliver's efforts.  
  
Then Percy moved a hand up Oliver's back, and rubbed a little with those too-long fingers of his, tapping and massaging, and Oliver felt himself move into the kiss regardless of his original intention. He craved pressure from Percy's mouth, and as his right hand rubbed over Percy's hipbone Oliver was struck with a need to touch Percy, touch as much of him as he could with his rough, overly large, made-to-catch-a-Quaffle hands. He needed to feel more of Percy's skin against his own, he craved it, he wanted--  
  
"Oh, excuse me," Marcus Flint's low growl came from behind Oliver.  
  
Oliver jerked out of Percy's embrace, turning around in one movement. He couldn't help automatically flushing as he ran a hand through his hair. Flint rocked back on his heels, arms crossed over his chest, an amused look on his face. His eyes raked up and down the pair, and Oliver felt vaguely scandalised.  
  
"What--" Percy's voice started shaky, and he paused to take a breath. "What do you want, Flint?"  
  
Without realising he was doing it, Oliver edged in front of Percy a little. It was more likely to be himself, rather than Percy, that Flint was interested in.  
  
"Just wondering why the Head Boy and champion Quidditch captain," Flint said both titles as if they were insults, "were over here rather than with the rest of us." He sneered a little, gaze still raking across them both. "But it seems you were otherwise occupied."  
  
Oliver drew himself up. He couldn't stand Flint; hadn't been able to stand him since they'd first played against each other. "Get back over there," he said, trying to sound menacing. "You've got no business with us."  
  
Flint ignored the comment, continuing as if Wood hadn't even spoken. "I should have guessed. All those nights alone in Gryffindor Tower," he sniggered a little, then continued in his mocking tone, "but really, Wood, a Weasley. Surely even you could have done better than," here he sneered again, looking condescendingly at Percy, "than that."  
  
With Percy standing so close, Oliver could almost feel him flinch at the comment. "Try to contain your jealousy, Flint," he shot back quickly. "I'd wish you luck in getting someone half as good as Percy to even give you the time of day."  
  
"Jealous?" Marcus replied, ignoring the second half of what Oliver had said. "You and your wet dreams. Unlike some people, I don't have to resort to sucking cock to get some action."  
  
With that, Flint gave them one last sneer and turned to walk back across the field to the fire.  
  
Oliver watched until Flint was safely out of earshot before he turned to Percy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Flint's always had a chip on his shoulder about me. It's a Quidditch thing."  
  
But Percy was smiling softly, his lips turned up very subtly, almost unnoticeably. "Oliver, you stood up for me."  
  
Raising an eyebrow, Oliver realised he was right. And what was more, he had automatically defended Percy. He hadn't even thought about it. He shrugged. "It was nothing."  
  
"Oh, it was something," Percy said, voice getting quieter until Oliver really had to strain to hear him. "I don't think anybody's really stood up for me before."  
  
Not knowing what to say, Oliver just looked at Percy. He was biting his lower lip oh-so-gently, looking so vulnerable. Oliver was suddenly hit by shame by the number of times over the years he'd laughed at Percy's expense, joked along as classmates complained about his uptight nature. It had never even struck Oliver to defend his room-mate to the twins, who spent hours harping on about their older brother. But now that he thought about it - who would stand up for Percy? He didn't know Penny well enough to tell if she would have. Certainly not the twins; they were usually the instigators. There had probably, Oliver realised, been nobody at all.  
  
"Well," Oliver said, moving closer and giving Percy a grin. "Nobody's going to have to again, with me around."  
  
Percy rewarded that comment with the biggest, most genuine smile Oliver had ever seen him wear. It warmed Oliver's heart, and he beamed back as he slipped his hand into Percy's. Neither took any heed of their classmates' reactions as they walked back over to the crowd, hand in hand.  
  
And so it would begin, Oliver thought to himself. They would have something.  
  
Percy had said they should think about what they wanted and owl each other with a decision. Oliver wasn't sure what he really needed to think about. He had done all his thinking during the time his lips had spent locked with Percy's.  
  
He knew what his decision was.  
  
And the minute Oliver stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow, he planned to owl Percy with the news. 


	3. Percy

The summer after their class graduated had been a very long one for Percy Weasley. He had started work at the Ministry of Magic (Department of International Magical Co-operation, thank you very much) and spent most of his time at home either working on reports that weren't due for weeks, or talking about work, or thinking about Oliver Wood. He owled Oliver as regular as clockwork, every two days, and cherished every letter he got back - even the seemingly endless babblings about Quidditch, because it was Oliver. And he loved him.  
  
That year had, of course, been tough for the Ministry. The mishap with the Triwizard tournament, and everything that had happened with Barty Crouch, and of course the unfortunate incident with Cedric Diggory. However, it wasn't nearly as tough as the six months that had since followed - six months of lying to Oliver.  
  
Percy had never thought that lying to Oliver would take any great difficulty. He had always known Oliver wasn't quite the sharpest mind around, and had known it would be very easy to slide a hand and make Oliver look elsewhere. He simply hadn't bargained that he would care enough about Oliver to feel very, very guilty about what he was doing to him.  
  
While Percy had been still living at home, the double life hadn't been so bad. It was quite easy to invent his working life on a piece of parchment, to talk about coworkers who didn't exist and assignments that never would. It was a challenge to keep his story straight, and above all, Percy loved a challenge.  
  
Oliver had changed all of Percy's well constructed plans, however, by asking him to move into his small London flat.  
  
Percy had simply had no reason to refuse. He loved Oliver; he truly did. It almost frightened him. In fact - it did frighten him, because he was Percy Weasley, and Percy Weasley most certainly did not fall in love.  
  
After all, for the most part of seven years, Percy Weasley had not even had friendships, really. Of course, he had Penelope - who had been appropriate. Appropriate had been the perfect word, because he was Head Boy and top of the class, and it was simply appropriate for him to date the Ravenclaw prefect who was head of her class. Percy had barely talked to his own room- mate. There were many reasons, of course, and Percy still wasn't quite sure what exactly had motivated him to talk to Oliver the night he finally did.  
  
It had simply been something - that Oliver had finally accomplished his dream. There was something about that that Percy simply appreciated. He had just wished to congratulate Oliver on a job well done. And of course, he had done just that. And it would have stayed as just that, except that Oliver spoiled all of Percy's plans (and really, Percy thought, that was getting to be such a habit) and quite frankly, it had been Oliver's own fault that Percy had kissed him, or tried to. Indeed.  
  
Falling in love had certainly, certainly not been on Percy's agenda. It interfered with what was on Percy's agenda - to keep Oliver from finding out about his real job, at all costs.  
  
To allow Oliver to find out was simply out of the question. Oliver was - for want of a better word, Oliver was pure. He was one of the few people Percy knew who could simply be categorised - put on a shelf under a sign which read "here sits a good person". Almost everybody else Percy knew was a mottled mix of black and white, but Oliver was pure as a unicorn's coat.  
  
Having Oliver around made it far, far, too easy for Percy to see how dark he had become.  
  
They had a daily routine down pat by now. Oliver would wake up very early to go flying. By the time he Apparated back into the kitchen, Percy would be up, calmly reading the Daily Prophet and sipping his morning tea.  
  
"Amazing," Oliver would say, coming over to kiss Percy. Percy would inevitably smile at how Oliver's face was always damp from the early morning air, and turn his face to kiss him properly. "I saw so much," he'd continue, and Percy would nod, as he always did. Oliver always did see so much. And no matter how many times he saw the exact same thing, Oliver would always see it with fresh eyes.  
  
And they would chat over breakfast, and then Oliver would go back to bed before Quidditch practice, and Percy would Apparate to a place that was not the Ministry, that never could be the Ministry, and that could never even be known by the Ministry.  
  
Oliver, of course, never suspected a single thing.  
  
Simple as a child, Percy thought.  
  
He had always, throughout school, seen Oliver as a child - even as Oliver matured into a young man. Oliver would always be a clumsy, overenthusiastic child whose limbs didn't fit his body. Oliver would always laugh at jokes people told in the common room, no matter how often he'd heard them. He'd always grin at the first years, and he'd always stop to help someone with their homework, even if Percy overheard his answers and it was clear Oliver had no idea. Oliver was innocent, and he couldn't believe that people didn't share his views. Percy had overheard Oliver ranting to himself late into many nights, about Professor McGonagall, or Professor Snape, or Marcus Flint, or Cedric Diggory, or the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Apparently, you would have thought from listening, nobody understood Oliver.  
  
Percy would have laughed.  
  
Oliver didn't know the first thing about being misunderstood, he thought.  
  
Being misunderstood was being the only one left out in a parcel of seven. Being misunderstood was not being old enough for your two older brothers, and being too old for your three younger and your sister. Being misunderstood was having your earliest memory of being shut in a dark room, and being terrified, and holding your knees to your chest because nobody else was around to hold you and you knew that there was something wrong with the world, but you never knew what until you were old enough to understand the phrases You Know Who and The Boy Who Lived.  
  
Being misunderstood was constantly being compared to Bill. Being misunderstood was the way you were merely as good as him, never better. Being misunderstood was not realising your superior was fooling everyone until it was too late. Being misunderstood was defending said boss, defending him to any and all, and being betrayed by him.  
  
Being misunderstood was being talked to by people whose names you still didn't know about deals you couldn't possibly keep and ideals you didn't believe in.  
  
Being misunderstood was knowing, even as you agreed, that even Oliver wouldn't understand this. That even Oliver wouldn't be able to understand that there were some things that had to be done, even if you didn't agree to them.  
  
Oliver would never understand, Percy realised, that being on the powerful team was more important than being on the right one.  
  
So indeed, Oliver had never known the first thing about being misunderstood. Oliver's life was a perfect example of people understanding. His parents may not have approved of Quidditch, but they certainly understood his passion. He had team-mates and acquaintances and reporters who all understood, all understood that driving passion that fueled Oliver Wood's ambition.  
  
Oliver even had complete strangers understanding him.  
  
No, Oliver had absolutely no idea what being misunderstood was like.  
  
He never would.  
  
"What are you thinking, Perce?"  
  
Percy blinked. He simply hadn't expected Oliver's voice, not then, certainly not breaking into his thoughts, and most definitely not when he thought Oliver was sound asleep. But indeed, that was Oliver's voice, and Oliver's arm sneaking around his waist. All the cues for a talk were flashing, and Percy sighed.  
  
"Nothing, Oliver."  
  
Another lie. Easier, quite admittedly, than 'I work at the Ministry', as opposed to the far more truthful 'I'm working against the Ministry', but it was still something he wasn't being honest with Oliver about, and that was, simply, very hard. After all, he did love the boy.  
  
Even though he wasn't quite certain of what that meant.  
  
Oliver sighed. "I'm nervous about tomorrow's game."  
  
Whenever Oliver expressed that sort of anxiety, a set of rules fell in place for Percy, and he was comfortable with following them. Put an arm around Oliver, hold him as he runs through the gamut of emotions that come with nerves. And he would listen to Oliver, of course - by now, Percy was almost certain he could even name most of the teams in the Quidditch League - but there really wasn't anything to say.  
  
The routine was very familiar, though. Comfortable. Percy understood that routine, when there were rules and regulations to be followed. It was the freehand romance that he struggled with. It was the times that Oliver looked at him, and asked where they'd be in ten years time. (That was simply something Percy didn't want to answer honestly.)  
  
But when Percy knew what to do, it was far easier.  
  
Wait, one, two, three,  
  
kiss him, one, two, three,  
  
hug him, one, two, three,  
  
"It'll be fine, Oliver," one, two, three,  
  
"You'll do well, Oliver," one, two, three,  
  
kiss him again, one, two, three.  
  
And then it was simple. Oliver knew the rules, too, and Oliver would quieten down, and go to sleep.  
  
So that's just what Percy did. He kissed Oliver gently on the forehead, counted to three. Hugged him closer, counted to three. Whispered, "It'll be fine, Oliver," and counted to three. Went on, "You'll do well, Oliver," and counted to three. And kissed his hair again, and Oliver quietened, and went to sleep.  
  
An innocent, trusting child.  
  
Percy often wondered what it would be like if things had turned out differently.  
  
If those men had never come to see him that day, with their murmurings about power, their gilded words about victory. How they had been watching him all along. How they had always known that he was destined for greatness. Destined to be different.  
  
They had told him they understood. And oh, had they ever known which buttons to push. They had even known which order to push them in, and Percy had wondered for a few moments about who had managed to announce all his insecurities to the world. But they had soothed him, and tempted him, and he simply hadn't wanted to resist any more.  
  
After all, the Ministry were the ones who had betrayed him.  
  
In fact, it wasn't even him that they had betrayed. And with more than a trace of bitterness, Percy would remember Mr Crouch's voice calling him Weatherby, and the twins' taunting, and quite frankly, when those men had said they understood him, they understood who he was, Percy craved that acceptance too much to refuse.  
  
But he couldn't help thinking what could have happened if he had. Would he have been made Head of Department, as his carefully constructed world for Oliver had him portrayed? Would he have been accepted, in the end?  
  
All he could be certain of was the fact Oliver would still be Oliver. Because no matter what Percy's other world was like, his real world - where the real Percy Weasley could exist - was lying in bed beside Oliver, learning how to love him. Learning how to treat him and learning how to interact with him.  
  
It had been a long time since he'd counted how many different Percys there appeared to be.  
  
So long, in fact, that he'd probably lost count.  
  
But as he looked at Oliver's face, eyes closed softly in slumber and hair falling onto Percy's chest, he remembered that there was, no matter what, only one Percy who counted. 


	4. Changed

**Title:** In A World Of Their Own: Changed  
**Author:** spintwin  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Notes:** The fourth and concluding chapter of my In A World Of Their Own series. Oliver/Percy.  
**Summary:** Percy changes everything.  


A muffled groan, a tightening of arms, and a very sleepy voice, "Percy?"

Much as he didn't like to admit it, Percy Weasley enjoyed waking up each morning with Oliver Wood sprawled across his chest. He couldn't admit it, of course, because such a weakness would brand him as forever human, forever imperfect. And Percy Weasley was certainly everything other than imperfect. 

"Oliver," he replied quickly, stroking the other man's hair, because that was what was required of him. Oliver sighed happily, a perfect affirmation that Percy had followed the rules correctly, and settled down to sleep again.

While he slept on, Percy lay awake and thought. Today was to be a turning point, he knew. Today was the day when his theories, his plans of treason and spoken words in a neutral office all came to fruition. Today was the day he could not turn back from, even if he changed his mind. Today was the day his reality began to be drawn in a slightly brighter ink. Today was the day he was to cast his first Unforgivable on a fellow human. 

Oliver did not know, of course. 

Oliver could never and would never know.

As far as Oliver knew, Percy's day was to be like any other. As far as Oliver knew, Percy would go to his neat little job in the Ministry and write his countless essays and hope to become Minister of Magic one day. As far as Percy was concerned, Oliver knew nothing. And that was how it was to be.

When Oliver awoke for the second time, and stirred properly, stretching his arms above his head and yawning loudly, Percy was already arisen and arranging his tie just so in the mirror. He met Oliver's eyes in the reflection and smiled curtly.

Oliver smiled back as he got out of bed, although when Percy thought back to it afterwards, Oliver's smile seemed forced and more than a little sad. Rather apt. 

"And what is on your schedule today, Oliver?"

At that, Oliver stopped short and put his hands on his hips. Percy quickly realised that he had made some serious error in judgment. He'd obviously forgotten some detail; a rather rare occurrence. He sighed, awaiting the tirade.

"I am _playing_ *Quidditch*, Percy. It's the-- it's my bloody _debut_ for the Puddlemere United team. Have you-- bloody _hell_, you said you were coming, Percy, it's my big _day_--"

Percy sighed and smoothed his hair down with a quick spell, tuning Oliver out as he ranted on and on, over and over the same points, for Oliver became rather repetitive rather quickly when he was angry. He had not remembered that Oliver made his debut today. The thought had not entered his head. He'd had far too much on his mind to bother about silly little hobbies like Oliver's Quidditch. 

The argument, one sided as it was, continued as they went into the kitchen for breakfast. Percy conjured some tea and sat down with the newspaper as Oliver kept shouting, his voice almost breaking with anger.

Eventually, as was to be expected, Oliver stopped for a breath, and Percy interrupted. "I can not come today, Oliver. I'm very important at work and they can't survive without me." He continued very importantly, "Especially not today." 

Percy expected a continuation of the temper tantrum; as indicated from previous argument experience and Oliver's general demeanour. However, against all predictions, Oliver sat down and buried his face in his hands. Percy watched him over the edge of the Daily Prophet, minorly concerned at this break from routine. He ran through all his carefully constructed contingency plans in his head, trying to find a suggestion for what was to follow. 

He had almost decided to say something, or perhaps even to reach out to touch Oliver's shoulder lightly, when Oliver looked up, running his hands through his hair. He looked at Percy for a minute, then turned to stare out the window. "What's _happened_ with us, Percy?"

And that, too, was an unexpected question, and Percy raised both eyebrows, thinking of an answer. "I don't know what you're talking about," he answered haughtily. 

"Neither do I," Oliver answered sadly, and got up from the table to go back in the bedroom.

As the door slammed, Percy tried to focus on his newspaper. He soon realised he was reading the same paragraph over and over again, and laid it down, wrapping both his hands around his mug of tea. He sipped it gently, slowly, savouring each mouthful as he thought about what had just happened. 

For some reason or another, best known to Oliver, he had broken routine, disobeyed the rules. It had never happened before, obviously, as that was how the rules came into being. Something had happened to change Oliver's behaviour, and something therefore had to be changed. 

Idly, Percy stirred his tea with his wand to warm it again. 

Oliver came back into the room after a while, carrying his bag and broomstick. He didn't meet Percy's eyes, looking down at his feet instead. "Percy. I went. Into your work yesterday, to surprise you. For lunch." He looked up, and out the window again. "They said. At the International Magical Co-operation department, said you didn't even work there." He sighed. "I don't-- I don't know what's going on. Or why. I don't know why you're lying to me. Have been lying to me forever, maybe. I don't under_stand_, Percy. And now -- you say you're going to come to my game, and you don't even _remember_." He shook his head.

Oh, Percy thought. So that was what had happened. That certainly had to be dealt with. 

"I don't know what to tell you, Oliver," he said very carefully. It was true. He needed some time to think about what was the best lie to feed him now, which string was the best to give him to play with. 

Oliver looked at him, slightly stunned. "You could start with the truth, Percy. How about where you work? We could start with that."

"I do work at the Ministry," Percy said, and it wasn't technically a lie. Some of his work did involve being inside the Ministry buildings. "I can't tell you what I really do."

"Oh," Oliver said, and Percy could swear he could almost hear wheels being turned in Oliver's mind, agonizingly slowly. After several minutes of frowning and figuring things out, he asked, "So, you're an Unspeakable?"

Percy simply smiled. It wasn't exactly a lie if one did not confirm or deny, and so he let the silence hang, allowing Oliver to make his own decision. It worked perfectly, as Oliver smiled after a while, looking down at the table. "You should have said something, Perce. That you didn't work there any longer -- I felt like a right twat, you know."

"You understand that I couldn't say," Percy said. Speaking to Oliver was an art. If you led him well enough, he reached your conclusions and thought the work was entirely his own. 

Proving Percy's point, Oliver grinned and nodded. "All right. And you know the secret's safe with me."

No, Percy thought, that wasn't quite what he knew. He knew that Oliver would tell everyone the minute he forgot it was a secret, but that wasn't exactly the same thing. He smiled at him instead of actually answering, and Oliver grinned happily. 

"You're sure you can't get off today, though? It's so important."

Percy shook his head. He could only imagine what his superiors would do if he decided his boyfriend's little game was more important than what was about to happen. "I'll be there next time, Oliver," he said, for that was what was needed. "I promise."

Oliver loved promises, because they meant something to him. He could point to them and explain why he hoped for things. So another of the rules was to use the word "promise" as often as possible, and bring smiles to Oliver's face. Oliver grinned then, nodded, and leaned over to kiss Percy gently. "I'll see you when I get home, then. If we're not finished, come to the game after work, yeah?"

Percy kissed him back, as he had learned to do by now. "Of course I shall," he replied, putting on a smile. "And you will be brilliant, Oliver, we both know that."

Nodding, Oliver said "Well, if I'm not, I couldn't possibly be any better. Can't remember ever being this prepared for something in my life." He picked up his bag and broomstick, and smiled again. "And, um, good luck with whatever you're doing today." He winked, and Percy almost wanted to laugh at Oliver's idea of subtlety. As Percy nodded and smiled to acknowledge Oliver's encouragement, Oliver lifted his wand and disapparated.

Once Oliver disappeared, Percy moved swiftly. His case was packed for the day, his heavy black robes freshly pressed. He checked his tie and appearance in the mirror, and smiled in satisfaction. He looked like somebody. His clothes weren't shabby or at all second hand; he hardly looked like a Weasley. Even his hair was less red nowadays. 

He had, as he had intended, risen above it all. Today proved it. He wasn't Bill, or Charlie, or his father. He was Percy, and he had done more than any of them.

He'd achieved power. He'd become somebody. His reflection knew it, and when the mirror murmured appreciatively, he knew it was obvious. He oozed power. Perfection. At long last, perfection. 

Particularly when Oliver wasn't around to mar it.

As he double checked his briefcase - the papers were all in place, every last one of them, all checked and tweaked until they were as perfect as their author - he raised his wand and smiled. After today, he imagined he would even have a chapter in _Prefects Who Gained Power_. Because oh, he had. Power beyond anything so many in that book could have ever imagined.

He disapparated with a smile on his face.

The morning at the offices was spent finishing the paperwork. Little was said by anyone, and an air of anticipation hung around them. Eleven fifteen sharp was the time they had designated for departure. 

In the name of secrecy, only a few - the leaders of each department - knew where their group was carrying out their raid. Six simultaneous attacks across Great Britain was all the rest, including Percy, knew. Six attacks on major wizarding centres to show those who doubted that there was a powerful group just under the surface. A group who knew more than the Ministry. Six attacks, and people would know who they were dealing with. They would portkey in, to hide the location even from those involved. The second in command would cast the Mark into the air. The others would kill. 

Percy knew that was what was to be done - he had dealt with the idea. It was what was necessary - they had to remove their opposition in order to win, and when they won, everybody would know his name. That's what they had said. When their side won, everybody would know Percy. His parents would be impressed, of course - how could they not be? They would realise which side was the winning one, and when they realised their own son was among the most-admired... they couldn't help but admire him. He would be honoured.

He would be loved.

At eleven fourteen, his group met. They seemed identical when their masks were on. Percy barely knew his coworkers - by first name only, if that. They looked at each other, then, as the clock on the wall turned over to eleven-fifteen, each reached out for the cracked coffee mug in the middle of the group.

The portkey activated.

Percy didn't have time to register a thing when they arrived at their destination - someone yelled "MORSMORDE!", and then, as screams filled the sunlit sky, they all spread out.

He walked with his wand raised as they spread in a circle, his hand only shaking a little. The first to try to stop him was a young lady just landed on the ground in sky blue robes - she rushed at him, arms outraised, and he quickly - Merlin, actually instinctively - shouted "Avada Kedavra!", there was a flash of light mirrored all around him, and she dropped to the ground.

He hardly hesitated to check her body, stepping over her and going on. There was another, and another, and another, as the screams started becoming fainter and fainter and a roaring grew in his ears, his left arm burning hot. The crowd was thinning, running, making their way out of the stadium - were they at a Quidditch match, perhaps, Percy wondered - and Percy was about to turn to meet back at the portkey when a hand grabbed his left arm, and he turned in surprise to see Oliver.

He froze.

Oliver knew, Percy could see. Oliver _knew_. Oliver knew everything; and it was written all over his face. His jaw had dropped, his face was streaked by panic, he whispered Percy's name in disbelief and he scraped at Percy's sleeve to see the Mark.

Percy only hesitated slightly before pointing his wand. The rules didn't cover this. He would have to work of his own accord, now. The rules never mentioned this at all. But the rule, the rule that was to be obeyed above all other rules, said that Oliver must never know about his work. The rules were very clear about that.

"Avada Kedavra," he whispered, and the last thing he saw before the green light flashed in front of him yet again, was the way Oliver looked up at him in surprise. Always surprise. Always seeing things with fresh eyes. Always innocent. And Percy closed his eyes as Oliver dropped away from him, as Oliver's hand slipped from his arm and as Oliver fell to the ground without a further noise.

Percy stood there, unable to move.

Someone ran past him, yelled for him to hurry. He didn't reply, looking down at what he had done. He had obeyed the rules, but he never expected it to come to this. The rules had betrayed him. Betrayed him like the Ministry had. At the last minute, they had left him. He could not trust the rules. They no longer made sense.

Percy knelt next to Oliver's body and removed his own mask, slipping it over Oliver's face.

He put his hand on his own left arm, over the Mark, bowed his head, and began to cry.


End file.
